Remember What I Taught You
by SammiS9987
Summary: Tag 3.16 No Rest for the Wicked. When they were kids, Sam promised Dean that he would always protect him, even if Dean was older. Now Sam has failed. But in the world of the Winchester's, death isn't the end, and Sam is going to make good on his promise
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine. We all know it.

Once Sam had told Dean that nothing in the world could stop him from protecting his brother. Nothing. Sam would take on all of Hell if it meant keeping Dean safe, but he had failed.

"What am I supposd to do now?"

"Remember what I taught you."

The words echoed in Sam's head as he cradled the mutilated mass of flesh that was his brother's body. The tears flowed freely, splashing to the floor and mixing with Dean's blood. The red river soaked into everything around it. Sam's body shook with despair and pain. He had never felt such a loss in his life. Even when his father had been taken from him, his personal pain had not reached such tremendous heights. Dean was gone, ripped from him in the most violent manner possible. Shredded and mauled, torn and broken. Ever so gently, he lay Dean's body back on the floor.

"Remember what I taught you."

Dean had taught him how to shoot his first gun. Trained him in hand to hand combat. Dean had taught him how to sneak into the movies. Had taught him how to pick up girls. Dean taught him about trust and loyalty. Dean had taught him about fear and how to control it. About working through pain and locking it in so it wouldn't interfere with a hunt. He taught Sam about protecting his family,and never letting anything come between them. The past was over and nothing could change that. The only place that you have power in, is the future. Dean had taught him how to soldier on. Dean had taught him that his emotions themselves, were powerful weapons. Slowly Sam's tears faded.

"Remember what I taught you."

Sam reached into Dean's pocket and withdrew the keys to the Impala. The metal shone bright red. He placed the keys in his pocket and turned towards the rest of the house. He ran to the bedroom and tore the sheets and blanket from the bed. Gently, he wrapped up Dean's body and placed it in the back seat of the impala. The engine turned over and Sam sped towards southern Wyoming.

"Remember what I taught you."

Sam pulled into the cowboy cemetary in the wee hours of the morning. He jumped in surprise at the rather violent knock on his window. He sighed and stepped out of the vehicle.

"Boy, what the hell are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here Bobby?"

"I saw you pulling away and I yelled to you. You either didn't hear me, or you ignored me, so I followed you here." Bobby eyed Sam up and down, trying to size up his state of mind. "Now I'm gonna ask you again, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Go home Bobby, you aren't going to be a part of this."

Bobby turned with a sigh, and came back around with a right hook that would have made the great John Winchester more than a little dizzy. Sam landed on his ass with a loud thud.

"I'm gonna ask you one more time. What the HELL are you doing here?"

"Damnit Bobby, you know exactly what I am doing here!" Sam screamed and regained his feet. He paused momentarily and took a deep breath. "I'm not leaving him down there Bobby. I am going to bring him back."

"And what exactly is it you plan on doing you bonehead? Huh? You just gonna march on in to the deepest, darkest depths of Hell and pluck him from the Devil's arms?"

"Yes." Sam stated matter of factly. Bobby stood dumbfounded. Sam moved toward the rear of the car as Bobby continued to simply stare. He popped the trunk and pulled out Dean's favorite shotgun. He also armed himself with three cantines of holy water, and extra box of ammunition, his mother's old crucifix, two cans of spray paint, and Ruby's knife. Closing the hood of the trunk, he checked that the shotgun was loaded and ready for action. He turned and headed towards the Devil's Gate, so cunningly hidden amongst the cemetary.

He shook up the first can of paint and, while aiming it at the ground, walked a tight cirle around the crypt. Once complete, he did it again, only making the second circle marginally wider. He shook the can of paint once more and set to work painting symblos in the narrow space created by the two circles. It dawned on Bobby that Sam was doing binding magic, and that once the gate was open the demons would have nowhere to go but back to hell. He had to hand it to the kid, it was a pretty clever move on his part.

Bobby sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't even believe he was considering doing this. The simple "Yes" he had recieved from Sam had left no doubt in him that there was no talking the boy out of it, and there was no way he could let Sam do this without someone watching his back. He shook his head and grumbled about knowing how the Winchesters would be, inevitably, the cause of his death. He retrieved his own weaponry from the backseat of his truck and walked to the crypt just as Sam finished painting. Sam walked around the crypt once more, double checking his work when he caught sight of his life long friend. He stared at Bobby in shock.

"Bobby, what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going in with you," Bobby replied while adjusting the twin set of rifles he had on his back.

"No you -"

"Don't you argue with me boy or I'll knock you over the head and tie you up in the back of my truck. I don't fancy the idea of traipsing on down into Hell and having a reunion with all the things I've sent their over my years, but I know I can't talk you outta this. If you're going, you ain't going alone. Now you mind telling me how you plan on getting through that lock?"

Sam stared at Bobby a few seconds longer, and when Bobby didn't back down, he produced a grenade from his pocket.

"Well," one eyebrow rose and Bobby nodded, "that certainly seems the Winchester style. Alright then, let's do this."

Sam tied the grenade into place with mesh wire and pulled the pin. He ran and hid behind a nearby grave next to Bobby.  
The grenade exploded and the doors to the crypt slammed open releasing Hell's fury. Both hunters stood, the hair and clothes being whipped about them by the roaring whirlwind rushing out of the gate, and watched the gathering black cloud cirlcing the top of the crypt, desperately seeking escape. They would deal with that when they returned. With one final glance at each other they faced the darkness, and Sam let loose a war cry and charged the gates of Hell with Bobby bringing up the rear.

Once Sam had told Dean that nothing in the world could stop him from protecting his brother. Nothing. Sam would take on all of Hell if it meant keeping Dean safe, and he had every intention of doing just that.

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	2. Chapter 2

This was originally intended to be a oneshot, just to satisfy my need to see Sam do something more than cry and sccept it. It didn't seem natural seeing as how the Winchesters were always portrayed as fighters. I needed an alternate ending that showed a little more valor and action. With that in mind, I didn't receive very many reviews which I can honestly say was very disappointing, but I did recieve a fascinating amount of PM's wondering if I was going to "Finish"  
my story. I've decided to take it a little further just to see what happens. I just want to mention that anyone who writes on here will agree when I say that an author thrives off of reviews, so please, I will continue to write more to this story, but I need to hear your reviews so I can learn where I need work. Thanks a bunch, now on with the story...

Previously

Sam tied the grenade into place with mesh wire and pulled the pin. He ran and hid behind a nearby grave next to Bobby. The grenade exploded and the doors to the crypt slammed open releasing Hell's fury. Both hunters stood and watched the gathering black cloud cirlcing the top of the crypt, desperately seeking escape. They would deal with that when they returned. With one final glance at each other, Sam let loose a war cry and charged the gate to Hell with Bobby bringing up the rear.

Once Sam had told Dean that nothing in the world could stop him from protecting his brother. Nothing. Sam would take on all of Hell if it meant keeping Dean safe, and he had every intention of doing just that.

NOW

Sam let loose his war cry and didn't even flinch as Hell screamed right back. Torrents of fiery wind whipped Sam's hair and clothes all about as he let off a round of rock salt shots at the swirling black cloud that sought escape. Shrieks of rage echoed through the air. Sam just continued shooting as he rushed the crypt, his eyes wet with determination. Save Dean or die trying, nothing was going to stop him.

Bobby stayed hot on Sam's tail, watching his back as any loyal friend would, and made a note that if they somehow managed to make it through this, he was going to beat Sam until he was at least two feet shorter. This was by far the craziest, stupidest, most courageous thing he had ever seen the boy do, but his hunting life had not been without lessons. The more courage a hunt or job required, the more likely it was that you were going to die. You or any hunter you had with you. Bobby wasn't sure what was driving Sam. His first intinct was that the years of bottled rage had gotten to be too much, and Sam had finally snapped at the many and varied injustices that ruled his life.

As they crossed the threshold they felt the very foundations they stood upon shake with fury. Not to say it wasn't expected, they hadn't exactly made a covert entrance, but they hadn't expected to be detected quite so soon. They were surrounded before Bobby even had time to blink. Demons slowly closed in from every side and he watched in disbelief as Sam took it all in with a smirk and dropped into an easy fighting stance. So reminiscent of Dean, Bobby felt a hard surge of pride as the older brother's hard training and influence gave Sam the confidence to do something Bobby thought no hunter capable of. To face hell and smirk. Damn crazy ass Winchesters. There was no fear. No rage. Simply instinct and determination.

In that split second he came to a conclusion. Sam was not being driven by courage or bravery. Not by anger or desperation, but by love. It's amazing how many people scoff at the power of real love. Love can transform you into a blubbering idiot, an obbsessive perfectionist, an embracer of peace, a promoter of tranquility, and a quiet appreciator of natural beauty. Love can make you unafraid of almost anything, even one's own mortality, because love gives us faith and hope and peace. Unless of course you are a Winchester, in which case love can transform you into a dangerous, cold, ferocious, fast, efficient, killing machine. Threaten something a Winchester loves and be ready for a beat down. Harm in any way something a Winchester loves? Prepare to meet the most painful death you could possibly imagine.

The first demon to come at them was met with a face full of shot gun and dropped to the ground in a chunky pile of what Bobby could only assume was blood, and demon fleshy bits. He watched in awe as Sam dispatched demon after demon with little to no effort. A small fear gripped him that they may bring back Dean only to lose Sam in the process. Two more demons rushed them and Sam moved without thinking. He held his shotgun steady and fired. The first tumbled to the ground and skidded to a stop at Sam's feet. He realised the other running demon was preparing to take him down with sheer bodily force. He let the shotgun clatter to the ground and took one step to the side. The demon ran right past him, a hair's breadth of space seperating them. Sam grabbed its shoulder, using its own momentum against it, and spun him in place, driving Ruby's knife into its eye in the process. Blood squirted from the mutilated orifice,  
splashing across his face like war paint. He made no attempt to wipe it off as he pulled the knife out and kicked the body once more for good measure as it hit the ground.

Bobby stood, his jaw slightly agape and his rifle held lossely in his hands. He gazed at Sam and wondered what had happened to the adorable, loving, happy boy that John had used to bring to visit him so often. What stood before him now was nothing but a shattered remnant of that person. Sam moved through the pile of bodies, every bit the predator he looked. His face, chest, arms, and hands spattered in blood, and not a single drop of it belonged to him. His eyes shifted back and forth, searching the shadows, knowing that just out of eyesight hundreds of more enemies stalked them. Hunted them. His stance screamed his readiness to fight them all, in fact he welcomed the fight. His breathing was hard and heavy, and his hair hung in front of eyes that held the steely resolve of a warrior. The others had slowly receeded into the darkness, somewhat startled by the ferocity of the man who stood before them. Not looking to fight a battle they had no chance of winning, they slunk away, no doubt to spread a warning to others. A hunter had broken in to Hell, and he was not happy.

"Sam, we should keep moving. We can't let them bog us down in one spot. We'll never survive. Let's go."

Sam's gaze held a momentary glint of defiance. These things were down here for a reason and they deserved no mercy, but he needed to get to Dean as fast as possible. With an almost imperceptable nod of his head, he bent to retrieve his shotgun from the ground, and reloaded it before they moved on. He slid Ruby's knife into his pocket and slowly took in his surroundings. The ground was stone for as far as the eye could see, before fading into shadow. The sky was black and purple, and filled with clouds that contained the organic agony of the souls that it had seen tortured. Pain wasn't just a concept in that place. It was alive. Living in the sky and clouds, watching, and knowing when and where to hit. Sam could feel the tendrils of despair wrapping around him and threatening to pull him down. Flashes of Dean impaled on meat hooks and stretched out to the mercy of those villianous clouds flooded his mind. He took a swig of holy water from his canteen and watched in fascination as smoke rose from his skin. He could almost feel the tendrils slithering away. He handed the canteen to Bobby knowing that they needed to keep their heads clear of any influence if they were going to make it out of this thing alive. Bobby took a quick swig and handed it back. Sam hooked the canteen to his belt loop and started walking.

"Do you even know where you're going?"

"No."

"Sam, you are aware that Hell is a pretty big place right?"

"Yes."

Bobby trudged behind Sam quietly pondering.

"You know that we are in an alternate plane of existance right now, right? This place could quite possibly span for an eternity... ... ... So how are we gonna find Dean?"

Sam stopped short and Bobby ploughed into him.

"I am going to find him Bobby."

"I'm not saying you aren't Sam, but what I am asking you is how?"

Sam sighed with frustration. Bobby and his damn logic, always mucking up the works. Sam had hoped that there would be some innate connection that would spark the second he set foot here. That maybe his abilities would be some kind of help in finding Dean. So far no such luck. His plan B had been to just wander around and kill things until something gave him the information he needed. A very Dean-esque move. It was a bad plan and he knew it. So bad that he had no intention of telling Bobby. 'Remember what I taught you.' Dean's words echoed in his ears.

"Remember what I taught you." Sam whispered.

"What?"

"Remember what I taught you. Dean said it to me back at the house before..."

"Sam what are you thinking?"

"Dean always taught me that every little thing around me can be of some use in some way. Remember what I taught you."

Bobby watched as Sam paced. He really had no idea what the kid was talking about, but hoped that this would lead somewhere soon. It was making his shoulder blades itch standing in one place for so long. He felt like a sitting duck.  
Sam chanted the words over and over again. 'Remember what I taught you. Remember what I taught you. Remember what I taught you.'

"Mom's old crucifix!" Sam whispered excitedly to himself. "Bobby, I have an idea."

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